


For All That's Come And Gone

by fred21



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Living with the after-effects of being the Nogitsune, Memories, Nogitsune, Old Age, Possession, post traumatic stress syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:13:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fred21/pseuds/fred21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things were never meant to be.  But in the end none of that really mattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For All That's Come And Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as something light but turned into something a little melancholy. Inspired by the Teen Wolf ladies and one of our many conversations. This is for you :)

Stiles unwrapped the tissue paper from around one of the new beer glasses he had brought last week from online and softly chuckled at the lettering that was engraved on it.

He placed it on the tray along with the bowl of nuts and the bowl of potato chips that were already there. He did the same with the next glass and then put two bottles of beer, side by side. Satisfied that everything was ready he picked up the tray and headed to the outside porch, humming as he went.

Walking through the living room a wall of photos and drawings looked down upon him. High school graduation photos, one of him and his dad, another of him and Scott and another with all his friends; college graduation, weddings of friends, random snaps, a lifetime of events captured forever in single moments. It was a wall of memories, of friends and family, of people who mattered to him, past and present.

He had a good life. Painful at times. Terrifyingly so. But worth it in the end. Even the nightmares didn't bother him as much as they use to. Though he was grateful that they were far less frequent. Losing one's sanity was something he had always been afraid of. Luckily he had his friends to hold on to. They had saved him, far more than they would ever know.

Things were quieter now though. The supernatural less prevalent or at least it seemed that way. Maybe it was just that he had gotten use to it. Use to the danger, the unexpected, the things that went bump in the night.

His writing helped. The books that he had published lined the wall underneath the photos were a testament to that. Stories of werewolves and people coming back from the dead and kitsunes and a host of other things he had never imagined back when he had been seventeen. Fifty years later though he had seen pretty much everything there was, there was little left in the world that could truly surprise him anymore. He kind of missed that.

Still he was older now, sixty seven and still going, physically and mentality. His body was in good shape, lean and strong and his mind still sharp, thank God. Old age was around the corner he knew but you would never know it by looking at him. Still sometimes he felt so very, very old. Like he had lived several lifetimes in just a short space of time.

It was the price he paid for the choices he had made. But when he looked out across view of Beacon Hills in the distance he knew that it had all been worthwhile.

"Really Stiles?" said Derek as Stiles placed the laden tray on the table, his eyes landing on the beer glass that was closest to him. The frosted words "I'm gonna rip your throat out... with my teeth" along with an image of a wolf were etched into the glass.

"You said them. I'm just stating the facts,' replied Stiles as he picked up one of the bottles of beer and popped the cap off, pouring its contents into his own glass which was etched with the words "Bite me" and an image of a werewolf.

Derek reached across the table for the bottle opener. "You know that was over fifty years ago. You're never gonna let me forget it, are you?"

"Nope," said Stiles, giving a smirk.

Taking his own bottle cap off with the opener Derek flicked the cap at Stiles with his fingers.

"Hey! Really Derek? Resorting to violence? Do you never learn?"

"Nope." Picking up his glass Derek smirked in return.

Stiles smiled to himself as the two of them drank their beers, their gazes looking out at across the place they both called home. They had both left Beacon Hills from time to time, sometimes for months or even longer but they always returned. The pull of it and all that was here was stronger than anything else.

The trips away were less frequent now. Derek was seventy three, though like Stiles he didn't look it. His black hair had barely any grey in it and there were only a few lines marring his face. His body was still fit, though perhaps not as muscled as it once had been. Either way he easily looked 15 to 20 years younger than his real age.

It was unfair, is what it was. Bloody werewolves and their super healing powers. Even now the guy was still hot. Not that Stiles would ever tell him. That was one secret that would go to the grave with him. He had put any attraction he once may have had for Derek far, far behind him. It was just one of the many might have been's that littered his life. He wouldn't let regret take a hold on him. That way led to madness. And he had lived far to close to the edge of that particular thing for far too long.

The friendship he had with Derek was much more important. It had helped him, guided him, saved him far too many times. No love affair would have been worth it. Still there were times, late at night, went he couldn't sleep, when the nightmares that plagued him nudged a little too close to the surface and he would stare out through the skylight that was above his bed and wonder. Wonder if perhaps he should have said something all those years ago, wondered what it might have been like, him and Derek.

Still that was in the past.

He knew, deep down, that he was far too damaged to ever have anything like that. Something permanent and strong and real. Fleeting relationships were what had worked best for him. Casual romances that held very little meaning and lasted just as long. Having a great love affair hadn't been in the cards for him. Not after everything that happened. Not with all the memories that haunted him.

It was the same for Derek, he knew. They had never spoken of it, not even in jest, but he sensed it. Derek had experienced too much lost, too much betrayal to truly let someone get close to him. In a funny way it was him, Stiles, who was probably the closest person to him, who understood him the best. Shared horrors and all that. One of life's little jokes.

"How's the book coming along?"

Stiles placed his glass back on the table, the sound of Derek's voice pulling him out his thoughts. "Good, I think. It's a bit different to the others though."

"Oh?"

Stiles smiled. Even after all these years, Derek was still a man of few words.

"Yeah. It's more about friendship and sacrifice and the things that haunt us. But with werewolves, of course."

"Of course." Derek paused. "It sounds good. Can I read it when it's finished?"

"Dude. You know you never have to ask. I'll give you a copy of the draft when I've finished. Just a few more tweaks and late nights and it'll be good to go."

"Good, I'll look forward to it. Just... take it easy. Okay?"

"I'm fine," said Stiles, pausing for a moment as he saw the look on Derek's face, "Really. I'm fine."

"You know you can always ring me. No matter what day or time."

"Don't I always."

Stiles knew that Derek worried about him. Especially when he was caught up in writing his latest book. The long hours, the lack of sleep, living on too much coffee and not enough food plus a bucket load of pills. It always took a toll. Stretched him to breaking point. Which considering how close he was to the edge wasn't exactly a good thing. The nightmares would occasionally creep back in during these times. But when they did the late night phone calls always helped.

Sometimes it would be Scott that he rang, others it was Lydia but mostly it was Derek. Derek who would listen, who would offer advice and words of comfort. Who would, most often, just be silent as he let Stiles ramble and talk, letting out all the pent-up emotions that flooded out. Who would turn up out of the blue, like he had today, with a bag of groceries, a six-pack of beer and the comfortable stability of his presence.

And of course there was their chess game.

Making his first move Stiles smiled as a memory came unbidden.

"What is it?" asked Derek as he too made his move.

"Remember when you shoved that chess board piece right in the throat of that voodoo priestess. Fuck I never heard anyone scream like she did."

Derek chuckled. A low sound that rumbled in the back of his throat. "It seemed fitting somehow. Considering she was using chess pieces carved in the images of us to make us do her bidding."

"Yeah. Bet she never thought of death by Bishop before. Who knew that a chess piece could also be used as a deadly weapon. Though it was shit getting all that blood and bits of skin off it."

"I told you to throw it away."

"And ruin a perfectly good chess set? No way. The bitch had enough fun at our expense. I wasn't gonna let her ruin our chess game. Not when I was starting to beat you."

"You do know that I let you win."

"You keep telling yourself that. I'll have you know I'm a fantastic chess player. I just like letting you think that I'm letting you let me win. I'm a nice guy that way."

"Shut up Stiles. And make your next move."

"You see, you know I'm right," said Stiles, moving one of his pawns and glancing up at Derek, with a wide smile on his face.

Derek huffed in reply, a small smile, curving on his lips.


End file.
